


To Die For

by Misedejem



Category: Bravely Default (Video Game) & Related Fandoms, Bravely Second (Video Game)
Genre: Also fluff, Angelo has no backstory so most of this is headcanon, Bravely Second spoilers for up to Chapter 5's third boss, F/M, lots of suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 06:25:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7348837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misedejem/pseuds/Misedejem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One thing the Kaiser's soldiers could all agree on was that Panettone's self-confidence had always been intense, to the point of conceitedness. Nobody, himself least of all, would have expected something so simple as a few bad dreams would have the power to break him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Die For

**Author's Note:**

> Panettone has very little canon content to work with, but I ended up liking him a lot, so I thought I'd have a shot at writing him.

             The man in the green robes had a strangely neutral look on his face, one that did not match the surroundings he was seeing. Even as he stepped through the viscera that spattered the ground, his expression did not change. He did not tighten his grip on the blade under his arm, and he walked with a proud gracefulness that contrasted the grimness of the scene. There were six people in that room, and four of them were dead. Excluding the man, the only other living soul was that of an eight-year-old boy, quivering over the body of an Eternian soldier with a bloodied knife in hand.

             The boy expected that this was where he died. Deep within his core, he supposed that would probably be for the best. He had nobody left, and short of being heart-breaking, it was downright dangerous to have nobody to care for you in Florem.

It was the Great Plague’s influences that had taken the woman who raised him because she had to, and now the Eternian soldiers had taken the woman who gave him a home because she wanted to. In Florem, that was something not to be taken lightly, because so many people would look at an orphan boy and turn away, leaving him to the ravages of nature and starvation. He felt a weird sensation in his stomach, and he tensed up. He’d be going to the streets if he killed this man. Dying would be better than that.

             “Impressive. Senseless, but impressive. Was she your mother?” The swordsman’s voice was unnaturally calm. He didn’t sound angry at all, as one would expect from somebody who stood before the corpses of their allies.

             The boy was too taken aback to answer immediately. He wasn’t dead yet. Still shaking, he met the man’s dark eyes and muttered a feeble: “no.”

             The man nodded, and he began to approach an overturned table in one corner of the room. Obviously, he did not fear the boy in the slightest, or he would not have turned his back on him. That wasn’t comforting in the slightest.

             “I see. A teacher then?” He stooped, and pulled the tablecloth out from underneath the table. It was one of the few things in the room that was not decorated with blood.

             “K-kinda…” The boy watched as the man crossed over to the body of the woman with the white cloth in hand. He bowed his head and placed it over her, before turning to face his adversary again. He was frowning more visibly now, and the atmosphere seemed to turn colder.

             “The Black Blades are the most elite of all the duchy’s soldiers. How did you do it?”

            The boy didn’t answer. He didn’t really know; he’d just sort of taken them by surprise. He was tall for his age, so he could reach an adult’s thigh or lower torso relatively easily with a knife. Being raised by a killer had its merits.

             The swordsman appeared to have had enough, and he drew his blade – an elegant yet dangerous looking katana that seemed to glitter in some otherworldly way. The boy could not make himself run.

             “I regret that it had to come to this. This woman was a threat to the duchy’s higher-ups, and a threat to the people I care dearly for. I hope you understand that this had to be done. I take no pleasure in it.”

             Against all his inhibitions, the boy started to cry. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to end up on the streets either, but dying felt so much scarier. He wanted his mother, the one who had rescued him from an empty home four years ago and who had loved him unconditionally ever since. She wasn’t his real mother, but she was the closest thing he’d ever had. Terror took itself upon him.

             The swordsman lowered his weapon, clearly frowning now. “Where I come from, a child cannot even begin training with a weapon until they are eleven years old. As you are, I would no sooner fight you than teach you. I would never be able to forgive myself for killing someone so young. I cannot.”

             “But…”

             “I will let you live. It is only natural that you would want to avenge the death of someone you care about, but I would give you a fair fight. I would like to punish you, of course, for the deaths of my soldiers, but…” He looked out at the empty street, and closed his eyes. “I know a boy who grew up living on the streets of Florem, and that fate is punishment enough for you. Should you grow old enough to be a seasoned warrior, come and find me. Look for Nobutsuna Kamiizumi.” He stepped out into the night. “He will face you when you are ready for it.”

             The world shifted suddenly, and muted orange clouds billowed out as far as the eye could see, floating gently in a dark void. The boy found himself within what he recognised as the asterisk barrier. Something wet trickled down his face, and he saw red as his body began to ache overwhelmingly. Three figures had materialised in front of him, battered and clutching bloodied weapons: a man with a mop of brown hair, a blonde woman in blue armour, and at their forefront, a boy with the crest of a white lion proudly emblazoned on his chest. He was scowling, with sweat dripping down his round face. He clutched a fencing sword in a gloved hand that was poised to deal a damaging blow.

             “You bring Magnolia back, you-”

             He did not get to hear what the boy had to say, because he suddenly felt himself being shaken as a familiar voice whispered: “wake up” in his ear, and the asterisk barrier faded away, replaced by the face of a girl, who was biting her lip as though she had something distressing to say.

***

             The Skyhold had never been so packed full of people, and yet so sombre and quiet, as it had been when the Kaiser had gathered all his officers to address them upon his return from Gathelatio. For the first time ever, he appeared before his followers without the black mask that he always wore over his eyes, instead bearing nothing but a partially healed cut (no doubt thanks to Sir Nikolai). Soldiers were milling about, hoping to catch wind of what Oblivion was saying, but it was a while before he even opened his mouth. It was understandable. The two empty spots at the circular table stuck out dreadfully, responsible for the heavy atmosphere in the room.

             Eventually the Kaiser began to talk, but his voice was shaky and heavy with regret.

             “I’m sorry. The mission was a failure. I could not procure Her Holiness, and potentially ruined everything by revealing my identity, and forcing Janne and Nikolai to reveal theirs before they could carry out their orders as intended.”

             “Do not blame yourself, Your Majesty. There was no way you could have prevented what happened. It was quite, quite unpredictable.” Nikolai’s words were confident, but his tone suggested that he, too, had lost hope.

             The Kaiser stared at his metal hand, unable to make eye contact with the others. “This is not the time to discuss our plans. Not until something else is addressed first.” He rose to his feet, taking with him a goblet of water (none of the people in the room drank alcohol), his expression grim. “It is with great regret that I must report what is, arguably, my biggest blunder. Two of our allies – our dear friends – lay down their lives yesterday. They did so out of devotion to their cause, and it is thanks to them that I am able to stand here before you. I…”

             Were his eyes glistening because of the ethereal, blue light emanating from Revenant across the room, or were they welling with tears?

             “…I will carry the burden of their deaths with me for as long as I shall live. I will make it my duty not to let their sacrifices be for a worthless cause – mark my words, friends, we shall deny this world. We shall let their dreams come to be!”

             He lifted his goblet into the air in a toast, and everybody with a cup of their own mimicked him. “Here’s to Bella and Cú Chulainn. You shall never be forgotten.”

***

             “Learning to fly, sir? You’d make a good pilot, sir, but I didn’t know you wanted to be one.”

             “What? No, that’s not what I said, Private. I said I wanted to practise flying _Vucub Caquix_. You know, one of those hunks of metal we stole from Anchiem? I… I just think it’ll come in handy, and I think you should do it too.” Sergeant Sapp added that final line through gritted teeth.

             “Me, sir? But I can’t drive an apple cart sir!”

             “Then learn to. This is very important Private, very important. I just think something bad is going to happen if we don’t get used to that thing. Call it premonition or whatever.”

             “Oh, there’s plenty of ammunition in the stores, sir, if you’re wanting some. But you didn’t bring your gun, sir.”

             “…What?” The Sergeant looked exasperatedly at his young subordinate. He quickly shook his head. “Look, if you must know… Last night I had a bad dream, okay, that we did a shoddy job of beating up some kids with that machine, and Sir Nikolai straight up _died_ because of it.”

             “Ah, I know how you feel, sir. Last night, I had a dream that we blew up one of them big machines the Kaiser got, and he threatened to attack us with squids!”

             “Could you two go and be annoying in an _empty_ corridor?”

             Both men started, and Private Piddler’s helmet was knocked askew as he jumped. Obviously, neither of them had noticed the Patissier who stood a few meters away, glowering at them.

             “S-sorry to disturb you, Lord Angelo, sir! It won’t happen again!” Both men saluted, and quickly scurried off. They were probably afraid they’d be poisoned if they continued to aggravate him, and they weren’t exactly in the wrong for thinking that. He’d used misbehaving soldiers as taste-testers a few times, until Nikolai had stepped in and threatened to unleash Geist on him if he didn’t desist.

             He frowned and leaned back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. How embarrassing. All day, he’d had that dream in the back of his mind, and Private Piddler could pass off something apparently worse without even wiping that grin off his face. To think, a simpleton like him could possibly get the better of the Kaiser's famed confectioner.

             It wasn’t even a disturbing dream, really. Maybe when he had been a child, seeing the aftermath of his mother’s murder would have affected him adversely, but he’d seen that memory over and over again for nearly ten years. It wasn’t that unpleasant anymore. Now, it was the part he’d never seen before – one that could not be a memory – that bugged him. Did he know those children? Why had he envisioned himself in battle with them?

             He had, for a second, considered asking Janne if he knew any boys that fit the description of the one he fought in the asterisk barrier. Only because Janne wore that same crest of the lion in one of his disguises, and because he would sooner embrace Geist the Bloody than ask Nikolai. He quickly shrugged that off though. Janne, he recalled, was still bitter towards him, and would never give him a proper answer.

             He sighed, and decided it would be better to spend his free time in the kitchens. Nikolai would probably be demanding something sweet to cheer up the Kaiser at any moment, and he knew enough about the way people reacted to bereavement and failure that something substandard would not do. Asking one of the novice chefs he was kind enough to share his kitchen with was out of the question.

             Plus, it would be a distraction, but he tried not to think that. He was still disappointed in himself for dwelling on this dream even now, several hours into the day. People had weird dreams all the time. It shouldn’t mean _anything._

***

             “Sorry about skipping out on practise with’ya today.”

             “There’s no harm in missing a day or two of swinging weapons around.” Angelo cast a glance over his shoulder to see that Aimee was sat with her chin on her hands, staring out into space. It wasn’t like her to look so overly miserable. 

             “I’m just not feelin’ it right now.”

             She didn’t have to justify herself, of course. Bella and Cú had always been the only people who were actually kindly towards the Empire’s two newest recruits, and Aimee had even considered them to be her friends.

             Angelo kept his mouth shut, under the pretence that he was busying himself with making her pancakes. Deaths never really bothered him; he had become desensitised to loss some time ago.

             “I’m kinda freaked out. They were some of the best fighters I’ve ever seen! And a couple of kids completely wasted them, like they were nothin’. Everyone’s sayin’ it was Yew somethin’? Y’know, that kid Janne and Nikolai went to the desert with a few weeks back.”

             He froze as he began dishing the pancakes. “The one with the Crystalguard?”

             “Yeah. You alright darlin’, you look spooked.”

             He shook his head. “I’m fine. Um, the Crystalguard are the ones with the white lion crest, aren’t they?”

             Aimee shrugged exaggeratedly. “How am I s’posed to know that?”

             “Never mind then.” He placed the plate of pancakes in front of her, and her eyes lit up delightedly.

             “Aw, you always know how to cheer me up. Thanks darlin’!”

             He smiled at her, and turned back to the stove to tidy up after himself.

             “Hey, Angelo…”

             He nearly dropped the pan he was holding. Aimee never referred to him by name, not unless she had something incredibly serious to say.

             “Don’t go dying on me or anything’, alright? Promise. I couldn’t handle myself if I lost ya.”

             “…Right.”

***

             It was nearly three in the morning when the Patissier awoke, cold all over, his hands shaking. It took a few moments for him to register that he was not, in fact, in Yunohana, and that the wetness on his forehead was sweat, not blood. His mouth felt very dry, so he pulled on a dressing gown and went in search of water.

             It was the second night in a row that he’d seen those kids in his dreams. Only this time, he hadn’t been woken up prematurely. His memory was patchy, but several things remained with him, and they made his pulse quicken as he wandered the dark corridors of the Skyhold.

             He had been defeated in battle by these kids, all of his soldiers dead at their feet. He had tried to take his own life, only to be stopped when a shot from Aimee knocked him back. A shot that comprised of her dying letter.

             The jug quaked in his hand as he poured himself a drink, a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.

             _You’re only dreaming about death because yesterday, everyone was talking about it. That’s all._ He told himself this a few times as he began to saunter sleepily back to his room.

             _Ah,_ a snider voice in the back of his head began, _but that doesn’t explain the kids, and why they were the same as they were last night._

             Of course it wasn’t the death bothering him, right? Even the prospect of his own shouldn’t have frightened him so much. That kind of thing just didn’t get to him in the same way it did other people, and why would the thought of Aimee dying affect him more than the thought of anybody else meeting the same fate?

             His train of thought was distorted, however, by a beautiful, yet eerie tune coming from the piano in the library (which was usually deserted save for one or two mages, and Minette and Bismarck catnapping under the window). Curious, and knowing begrudgingly that he probably wasn’t getting back to sleep that night, he went to investigate. The library was cast in a brilliant, blue light, and sat at the piano was the armoured figure of Revenant Grace. Next to him, absent-mindedly rolling a ball of yarn between her paws, was Minette Napkatti.

             “Oh look, it’s Nyangelo! Isn’t it a little early for you to be up?”

             “Hi!” Revenant waved, his empty armour clattering and his voice echoing in the cavernous room. “Do you like my music?”

             “Oh, I… Um… Yes, I suppose it’s very –”

             “Minette couldn’t sleep, so I’m playing a lullaby.”

             Minette, struggling to sleep? That was out of character; the kid spent her whole life passed out in the sun.

             “Minette had a bad dream, that’s all.” The Catmancer shuddered. “Revenyant is the only one who would be awake, so Minette ran to find him at once. I didn’t…” Her voice began to shake, and Rev gasped slightly.

             “Don’t cry again, kitty! It’s okay! You’re not gonna die, it was only a dream. Dreams are make-believe.”

             “How do you know?” Minette sniffled. “You don’t have dreams.”

             “Seems like everyone’s having weird dreams lately,” Angelo said, looking off into a corner of the room. He hoped the two of them weren’t smart enough to figure out that he was suffering from the same problem, but they both looked at him curiously. “I, uh… I overheard some soldiers talking about something similar.”

             “Was the Professor from Al-Khampis you killed in your dream the same guy who used to slip you fish while you were living on the streets there, Minette?” Rev asked, apparently with no intention of questioning what Angelo had just told him.

             “Revenant, I don’t think Minette wants to -”

             “You mean the Spiritmeowster? No, no, he’s a good kitty. Minette is talking about the Astromeowgian.”

             Angelo had no idea who she meant, and apparently nor did Rev. It occurred to him that the kid was probably stalling for time. The nights probably got lonely when you were the only one who didn’t sleep, and he was most likely enjoying the company, even if the company wasn’t particularly enjoying him.

             “And then you died?”

             The child had no tact whatsoever. Apparently being dead for so long made you unaware of how terrifying the thought could be for mortals.

             “Minette went after the compass for the Kaiser. And… And then… That boy and his friends attacked Minette, and Bizzie too! The same ones who killed the others in Nyathelatio.”

             Rev hung his head, and Angelo took that as his cue to go. His heart was beating fast again, and he had sloshed what was left of his water down his front.

             It was that boy, again. How could it be that both he and Minette had seen the same person – and fought him – in completely unrelated dreams? And those kids Sergeant Sapp had referred to, could they be the same ones? The ones who killed Bella and Cú?

             What on earth did it all mean?

***

             Angelo did not sleep very well at all over the new few days. Every night, he went to bed hoping his dreams would be free of asterisk barriers, and the Yew boy. He wished he could see something – anything – else. The death of his mother; his sister abandoning him; every time he’d nearly died himself – to that fever a few years ago, or that fall in Al-Khampis, or the time he tried to fight the Valkyrie. He found himself missing those regular apparitions in his sleep.

             Instead, he was forced to read Aimee’s dying message over and over, until he could recite it by heart. He could barely stand to look at her now, because whenever he did, he envisioned her lifeless and broken. He couldn’t bear it.

             He and Aimee had been risking their lives together for the four years they had known each other. Deep down, both of them knew that in their line of work, there was a very good chance they’d come to lose one another. He’d come to accept that one day, she’d die on him, or maybe he would die on her. He’d convinced himself that it was a fact, and he thought he had convinced himself that he wouldn’t be affected when it came. Apparently, not well enough, though it was probably the tiredness, he told himself. Between ten and twelve hours sleep every night was what he aimed for, and lately he’d been getting no more than three or four. It was no wonder he wasn’t thinking like himself on so little rest.

             When the Kaiser had announced that he wanted to see every asterisk holder for a meeting over lunch, Angelo had taken great care to cover his face in a layer of concealer so that nobody would notice the dark circles under his eyes. He felt positively awful, but that didn’t mean he needed the looks to match. The very thought of somebody seeing his face when it wasn’t in perfect condition was too much to bear. He wished he was able to drink something caffeinated to keep him more awake, but caffeine tended to upset his stomach, so he tried to avoid it, as he would rather be exhausted than fall ill in front of the other asterisk holders, who would no doubt think he was weak if he did.

             “His Majesty looks sick, don’tcha think?” Aimee whispered to Angelo, watching the Kaiser take his seat at the head of the table out of the corner of her eye. She did have a point -  Oblivion’s eyes were black, and his face was pasty and slightly gaunter than usual.

             “Yes, well, everybody looks a bit deflated. Nikolai’s aged about ten years in a week.” Aimee grinned at that last part. It was surprisingly comforting to see her smile again, as embarrassing as it was to admit to himself. The plummeting morale among the soldiers was affecting even the bubbliest of people.

             Having been built in the autumn, the Skyhold had not yet been updated to accommodate the warmer weather now that spring was getting nearer and nearer to summer. The room was stifling, and the heat was enough to make anyone drowsy. With only seven other people in the room, it would be impossible to take a nap without being spotted immediately. Not that he wanted to sleep anyway. He didn’t want to see those apparitions again.

             “I know our plans got off to a difficult start, but I think we’ve managed to get ourselves back on the course of action now,” the Kaiser began. His voice was less shaky than it had been before.

             Angelo folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them, not really caring if the others thought he wasn’t paying attention. He didn’t really feel up for focusing on the Kaiser, as much as he hated dwelling on the dreams. They had infiltrated his thoughts when he was awake now, and there was one line in particular on that letter that was bothering him.

             “– we might not have Her Holiness, but there is always the Vestaling of Water. If we can just get hold of the compass –”

             The Aimee in Angelo’s dreams had told him she wanted him to stop fighting and open a pancake shop instead. It had been her final request of him.

             “— our correspondents in Eisenberg tell us that Yew Geneolgia and his party were last seen entering Grapp Keep before an earthquake was felt in the area. If they still live, they may be trapped, which will buy us some time –”

             It seemed absurd, really. Aimee, more than anyone, knew that he wanted to finish off those errant duchy officials. She shared the same dream herself. Those forces had taken away everything they had, and had forced them into a life they did not want. Did she really think he’d be happy if he just turned away before all of that was finished?

“– that still leaves Eternia as a potential threat, but if we’re careful, we should be able to procure both the Vestaling and the compass without crossing the Templar’s path. We’ll need to act quickly, so I suggest you all rest up –”

             Yet, he did turn away from it. In his dreams, it was always the same outcome. He _did_ give up fighting, as Aimee had wished. Why, though?

             Was it because he didn’t want to die? That was part of it, surely. If he thought he’d die, he wouldn’t do it.

             There was, however, the other possibility that he wanted to honour Aimee’s request.

             “- remember this, my friends. No matter what happens, your desires shall be met -”

             Did he really care about carrying out Aimee’s request more than taking his revenge on the duchy for killing his mother?

             “– should you fall in battle, I shall carry out your legacy for you. I shall build the world you want to see –”

             Did he really care more about _Aimee_ than _himself_?

             “- together, we shall deny this world, and everything in it!”

             What kind of self-centred prick did you have to be to even ask yourself that question?

_The Geneolgia boy was right, you know. You’re a huge jerk. Aimee is dead, and you would even consider dishonouring her final request?_

It took him a second to realise that wasn’t exactly true – Aimee was very much alive, and she’d never made any such request. He was letting these dreams get the better of him.

Crystals, he needed to sleep…

             There was the scraping of a chair against the tiles, and Janne Angard rose to his feet, sweeping a fluffy lock of his hair over his shoulder.

             “I have a question, Your Majesty. About Yew Geneolgia.”

             “Do go on, Janne.”

             “Isn’t it possible that Yew is having these same, uh, visions, I guess you can call them, that we are? Well, from what Minette was saying to me earlier, it sounds like Yew probably knows we’re after the compass. I mean, it’s possible, isn’t it?”

             “It is certainly possible, but I deny your worries, Janne. If it comes to it, we are perfectly capable of beating Yew and his friends to the compass.”

             “Do you have any proof that the Geneolgia boy is having these visions?” Geist, who had kept his head down for the entire meeting, challenged.

             Janne screwed up his eyes slightly, and his lip twitched. “It’s just a bad hunch I have.” It was obvious that the Fencer was not being entirely truthful, but there was no doubt that Janne and Nikolai didn’t trust any of the others nearly as much as the Kaiser did. Geist’s unpredictable nature made him hard to put much faith in.

             “Does that mean he knows how to kill us?” Minette asked, her catlike eyes widening with horror.

             The Kaiser’s face took on a grim countenance, as did Janne’s.

             “It does mean that our endeavours will be riskier, yes. I do not deny that there is a chance we will all be killed. However, for the sake of a better world, our lives should be something we are willing to sacrifice.”

             Angelo lifted his head slightly. It was true that he was feeling slightly more vulnerable in his weakened state, but he had an inkling that, even in top form, if he was to list his qualities, a willingness to fight to the death for a better world was probably not one of them.

             ***

             That evening, Angelo set the kitchen on fire.

             At least, that was how Nikolai was trying to present it. The priest seemed to think he was the type to irrationally destroy his own work space, probably out of boredom or something. It was a disgusting accusation, and the very idea of it made Angelo’s blood boil.

             “Ahh, piss off, old man. Your behaviour – these false accusations – stinks like sour milk.”

             Nikolai folded his arms. The corner of his mouth twitched. “I don’t appreciate your tone. I simply asked what it was that happened here. I’ll ask once more, why is the kitchen filled with smoke?”

             “You’re not entitled to that information, Nikolanikov. Why don’t you run along and write fan letters to your dear Praline, or something?”

             Angelo had no intention of telling Nikolai he had fallen asleep while baking. That would be admitting that the dreams were keeping him awake, and he didn’t want the Bishop he loathed knowing about _that_. The indignity would surely kill him.

             “Why, I never – You are truly the most arrogant little child I have ever had to misfortune to work with. Your disrespect is going to get you into serious trouble one day, boy, I can assure you.”

             Angelo rolled his eyes. His head was pounding from exhaustion, and he felt his temper getting shorter and shorter. Nikolai was still not done lecturing.

             “– Don’t think I didn’t see you blatantly ignoring the Kaiser this morning, either. You’re anti-social, completely self-centred, and you never do anything to pull your weight around here. What on earth His Majesty was thinking when he hired you… And your methods of killing don’t even bear thinking about.”

             Angelo clenched his fists. At that present time, Nikolai was lucky he was not armed with his dagger. A soft magic-user like him, in nothing but billowing robes… Even in his tired state, the Patissier was sure he’d be able to slice him up nicely if he could.

             “You’re young now. You think you have everything. But those devoted fans, those good looks, that talent you squander, none of it will last. You are wasting your life, behaving in this manner, Panettone, and you will come to regret your choices. I’ll say it once more, for g- AAGH!”

             Thoroughly at the end of his tether, Angelo had slapped Nikolai hard across the face. Through his heavy breaths, he managed to get out the words: “evening, Geist.”

             The Exorcist was looming in the doorway, having been summoned to fix the dismal state the oven was in. Angelo half expected him to reprimand him for striking Nikolai, as that’s all adults seemed to do where he was concerned, but instead he just grinned that unnerving grin that was part of the reason Angelo never engaged him in conversation any more than mere pleasantries.

             “You look quite unwell, Chef. Perhaps it will do you good if you relax for the rest of the evening?”

             “Uh… Right.”

             As he passed Geist in the doorway, the man muttered under his breath, “that ought to teach our dear friend, the Bishop, not to treat those of us he deems ‘dangerous’ like vermin.”

             So, Nikolai treated Geist, a horrendously violent killer with zero inhibition, with the same disregard that he treated _him_?

             Just how untrustworthy did these people think he was?

***

              Angelo had no idea how long he’d been lying in bed when his door creaked open in the early hours of the morning. He’d been dozing off sporadically, only to be awoken again and again by those awful dreams. They were growing increasingly irritating, and he swore that if he ever met Yew Geneolgia, he’d be getting his _just desserts_ for certain.

             “Darlin’? Are ya awake?” a small voice whispered from the crack in the door.

             “Aimee? Is something the matter?”

             She sauntered into the room clutching her pillow to her chest.

             “I can’t sleep.”

             “…You’re not having bad dreams, are you?”

             “Bad dreams? Yeah. Yeah, I guess you could say that. I’ve been havin’ ‘em a few days now. Always the same one.” Her voice took on a harsher tone. “I keep getting my ass kicked by a bunch of kids. Only tonight it’s actually like the pain of getting’ stabbed in the gut is stickin’ around when I’m awake.”

             “Oh, Aimee…”

             “I was wonderin’ if I could sleep in here tonight. It might be easier to convince myself it’s just my head fuckin’ with me if I’m with someone else. I can sleep on the floor, I don’t mind.”

             Angelo stared at her in horror. “On the floor? Heaven forbid! You can have my bed; I’m not sleeping tonight anyway.”

             “Oi, mister, don’t you go neglecting yer own health for my sake! I ain’t worth shit compared to you.”

             _That’s not what everyone else thinks. Everyone else is probably right, too._

If he had been in a better state, he’d probably have attempted to comfort her with words and sweets. He couldn’t deny that his charms usually paid off, and his cakes always put a smile on her face.

             Instead, he rose to his feet and hugged her. She seemed stunned at first, but it didn’t take her long to nestle her head contentedly into his chest, and release the pillow between them so she could wrap her arms around his waist.

             “You’re uh… A lot shorter than I realised,” he told her softly, after a long period of comfortable silence.

She kicked him in the shin, though whether or not the gentleness of the blow was to signify that she was teasing or simply because she was weakened by fatigue, he could not tell.

             Eventually, it looked as though she was about to doze off. He guided her to his bed and pulled the covers up around her, before taking one of the blankets and many squishy cushions he liked to sleep with for himself. Both of them were used to sleeping rough, and while he was more inclined towards comfort, he decided her needs were more important than his.

             “I love ya, darlin’.”

             He struggled for a moment to find the right words to reply. Some time ago, he wouldn’t have replied at all. He supposed that this change of perspective was the one upside to the hell he’d been going through as of late.

             “You too… Sugarcake.”

             He proceeded to bury his face into his pillow, feeling that the darkness was not substantial enough to hide the redness of his cheeks.

***

             The dreams didn’t bother him so much for the rest of the night. Knowing immediately that Aimee lived seemed to lessen their effects somewhat. He awoke the next morning, feeling better than he had in a long time, to find her standing over him, holding a tray of breakfast goods that he silently hoped she hadn’t prepared herself. Growing up in a forest had done nothing good for her cooking skills.

             “This is a surprise…” He mumbled sleepily, propping himself up on his elbow. He’d been bringing Aimee breakfast in bed for years, but she rarely returned the favour.

             “Not really,” she shrugged, after placing the tray on his lap. “You’re sick. Did’ya think I was just gonna leave ya to look after yerself in this state?”

             “I’m not sick, I -”

             “’Course y’are. Just look in the mirror, y’ll see what I’m talkin’ about.” She sat down next to him. “On second thoughts, maybe it’s best if ya _avoid_ mirrors for a while?”

             “You don’t exactly look great yourself.”

             “Anyway,” she continued, ignoring his remark, “it’s easy to tell, ‘cause you’re not acting like yerself. I’ve heard all about those night-time wanderings, and the cake burnin’ fiasco. An’ I’ve never seen ya so positively _adorable_ as ya were last night. Who knew my darlin’ was such a cutie when he’s got no inhibitions?”

             “You heard about all that?” He felt his face heat up.

             “I talk to the others. I know ya don’t like havin’ much to do with ‘em, but they’re alright. ‘Cept those assholes, Janne and Nikolai.”

             “I, uh, hit Nikolai in the face yesterday. Did you hear about _that_?”

             Aimee laughed. They slandered Nikolai fiercely for a few minutes, Aimee’s insults growing more and more crass as she went on. Angelo was slightly taken aback when she suddenly changed the subject.

             “Hey, so can I ask you something?”

             He held his breath.

             “If I asked you to stop fightin’ would’ya?”

             “I don’t fight because I want to.” His reply was a little snappier than he would have liked. “I don’t enjoy risking my life for a living, but it’s all I’m good for. Murder and baking.”

             “Yeah! You’re an incredible baker, darlin’. There ain’t anyone better than you.”

             “I know, but -”

             “So why don’tcha do that for a livin’ instead?”

             “You know why.”

             Aimee scoffed. “What? For _revenge_? I realised a long time ago that wasn’t gonna happen. Don’t go thinkin’ that it doesn’t matter to me, either. Those Bloodrose Legion guys destroyed my home. I want nothin’ more than to kick their asses, but I think we need a few more years hard trainin’ before we’ll be anything close to the strength of those Eternian asterisk holders.”

             “Why the sudden change of heart?”

             “It was only six months ago we fought the Valkyrie, and she would’a killed us if the Kaiser didn’t jump in. And then there’s these dreams. And don’t go denyin’ that they’re bothering ya too, because I know they are.” She added that last part rather forcefully. “Seeing yer own death like that is enough to break anyone.”

             “I never said I saw _myself_ die.” He began to tell Aimee everything, every tiny detail of the dreams he’d become accustomed to. The ones he doubted would ever go away. Her cheeks flushed red when he began to recite the letter.

             “Did dream you do what the letter said? Did he set up a pancake shop, like I asked him?” She queried tentatively.

             “Yes, he did.”

             “And… Is real you even considerin’ it?”

             “…He is. If the real Aimee considers it too.”

***

             “You’re _resigning_?” Oblivion stared, blank faced, at the two in front of him.

             Under his breath, Janne muttered something that sounded an awful lot like: “ _traitors.”_

“You’d know all about treachery, wouldn’t you Janne?” Angelo hissed, and the younger boy’s overlarge eyebrows knitted together as he scowled.

             “Running away from a cause you’ve sworn to _is_ treachery,” Nikolai stated. He was staring at the two of them with something of an intense anger in his eyes that neither of them had seen before.

             “I deny your accusations, both of you.” The Kaiser folded his arms.

             Janne and Nikolai turned to Lady Anne, who just shrugged. “I’d say execute the two of them, but it’s up to you, Your Majesty.”

             Angelo felt Aimee grip his hand tightly.

             “I do not want to deny my friends their freedom, if that is what they wish. If people want to die for this cause, I will allow it. If people wish to abandon it with their lives intact, I will allow that also. I have made some… ah… mistakes in the past, and I do not wish to repeat them.” He did not elaborate any further.

             The Patissier was surprised that he agreed so quickly, and it looked like the Hawkeye was too. Her eyes had widened in awe. He supposed the Kaiser probably felt sorry for them; they both looked exhausted and defeated – something that, no doubt, he could relate to.

             “Well, Aimee and I have decided we’re much too young to go to heaven. I apologise, Your Majesty, but I value my life far more than the deaths of my enemies.” Angelo gave the Kaiser a sweeping bow.

             Nikolai muttered something about their chances of getting into heaven being very slim, which Angelo chose to ignore.

             “I understand. What of your dreams, though? Did you not say when we first met that you intend to wipe out the duchy?”

             “Yeah, and we ‘aint gonna forget those dreams. They’re just gonna have to wait. We’re gonna get stronger, and we’re gonna live our lives as best we can while doing it!” Aimee pounded her fists triumphantly.

             The Kaiser smiled gently, perhaps for the first time in a while. “Then I wish you the best of luck, my friends.”

             “You too, y’majesty,” Aimee chimed.

             As he began to walk from the Kaiser’s chamber, Angelo froze. A memory of six months prior floated to the forefront of his mind, from when he and Aimee had first joined the Kaiser’s forces.

             “Your Majesty? Do you remember how we met?”

             “Of course. The Valkyrie that serves the duchy was about to skewer the both of you, and I fended her off.”

             He nodded. “I’ll admit I haven’t exactly done a good job of paying you back for that. I’ve been… Self-centred, unwilling to pull my own weight…” He cast a quick glance to Nikolai, who frowned. “Should you ever be in Florem, please do drop by to our new premises in the gardens. I’ll admit, I made a mistake in thinking I was suited to your forces, so there’s nothing more I can do for you here, but…” He bowed again, smiling. “Free of charge, I _will_ serve you the best pancakes you’ve ever had!”


End file.
